A decade ago, when I planned on writing about my town’s local history, I decided to look for Pampanga photos to help visualize my essays. My interest for such photos intensified when I joined the Center for Kapampangan Studies of Holy Angel University, and I found myself contributing to its growing old photo archive.
My collecting interest soon expanded to include Manila Carnival Queens—spurred by top collector and dealer Tony Ronquillo, who gave me a photo of the 1915 winner, Concepcion Medina of Masbate. I paid fifty pesos for it, which I thought was reasonable. Religious photos—churches, altars, santos, nuns, priests, first communicants, carrozas, funeral processions, Marian images—soon found their way into my albums. I was also drawn to color Filipiniana and ethnic postcards, but I have become more selective because of the steep prices they command in the market.
Today, I have over 3,000 photos—Carnival photos alone number 1,800 different pieces. My early photos were saved from our old family albums, the rest mooched from relatives and bought by the boxes from antique dealers (old photos weren’t much in demand in the 80s—who would buy photos of dead people?). Well, it seems that today, a new legion of old photo collectors have sprouted, and the consequence is that the supply of old photos have dwindled. The rise of online auctions and live auctions can also be partly the reason why prices have skyjacked in recent years.
A typical circa 1920s Philippine photo with an ordinary subject (e.g. portraits of people, wedding) has an average starting bid range of $5-9. Rare, historical subjects can command even more (e.g. photos of heroes, historical events). Carnival photos, which were once so commonplace, are priced from a low of Php250 (portraits) to a high of Php1,000 (rare court scenes and provincial carnivals) . The highest price I have paid for is for the 1908 complete court, which set me back by Php3,000 on ebay. Fellow collectors would kid me later that I was the one responsible for increasing the market value of Manila carnival photos.
In the course of my pursuit of old photos, I have also met wonderful, like-minded individuals who offered tips along the way, shared their collection and enriched my knowledge about this once-affordable hobby of photo and postcard collecting (or, to be precise, deltiology). As previously mentioned, Tony Ronquillo, an expert auctioneer of Bayanihan Collectors and a formidable collector of photos was an early influence. His shop at Makati Cinema Square was a favorite haunt in the late 80s and I would often visit him at his Zobel Roxas apartment where he would allow me to dive into his overstuffed garage piled with boxes and boxes of old photos and ephemera. Too bad he has relocated back to Parañaque.
Ed de los Santos, a quiet and unassuming architect, forsook his day job to become a topnotch dealer, just like his father, Atty. Jorge de los Santos, a world-class collector himself. Ed’s interest include revolutionary documents, patriotic photos and presidential memorabilia of all sorts. He is often seen on TV showing off his unusual items like love letters Quezon wrote. He has also filled in most of the missing pieces I need to complete my Carnival collection, unloading the bulk of his Carnival photos to me and me alone.
When I was in the U.S., I also corresponded with and traded photos with the legendary Mike G. Price—a former U.S. Peace Corps volunteer in the 70s who has undisputedly the biggest Filipiniana postcard and photo collection in the world. His house in Michigan is a virtual photo museum and the range of his collection is simply mindboggling. He collected everything and anything Philippine, even if he has certain “flavors of the month” – like photos of Mindanao, Davao, tribal groups etc. I would often go against him on ebay – he was also a Carnival collector; I had more losses than wins against him.
One card though—postmarked in Stotsenburg (Pampanga)—became mine when I pipped him at the end of the auction. Later, he e-mailed me and asked me to look at the picture closely, because he said it is not what I thought it to be—a Pampanga scenic spot. He pointed out that the mountain in the background is not even Arayat and the people posed before it were not Negritos but some Mindanao tribes—their costumes say so. When I scrutinized the photos, the mountain looked different indeed, and so were the tribesmen. Having learned from the master, I agreed to swap the photo for a rare photo of a Thomasite teacher and his students taken in—Mabalacat, my hometown! That photo made it to my book in time.
One other time, he sent me a photo with notations to look at one of the subject—a woman vendor with crossed eyes. He said to keep an eye on this woman, as she would appear again in other photos taken in turn-of-the-century Angeles. True enough, in one of the photos in my collection—I found the same woman, this time with a basket on her head, but cross-eyed as ever. Mike concluded that these were apparently posed pictures, and not really candid as we thought them to be. Mike’s expertise and passion for detail are truly amazing and I am grateful for those valuable tips.
And what purpose do photo collections serve? For me (and perhaps, for other collectors too) old photos are windows to a time gone by, catalysts for memories, and stories, offering glimpses as to how our forebears looked, lived, loved, dressed, earned their keep, practiced their faith, amused themselves, and more. By freezing time, identities and events gain a sort of immortality, every time we take a peek into our albums.
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